Trump x Biden (Call Me Your President)

Part 3

I went to the gay bar almost every night, looking for Joe; Melania didn't worry much about where I was just as long as I wasn't around her. As much as I prefer men, I still have some level of liking for women, I've never felt true love for a woman though, and especially never felt what I felt for Joe for anyone. I had to see him.
I eventually worked up the courage and got his phone number off of Pence and sent him a message about meeting me at midnight outside the bar. I sat for what seemed like decades until my phone chimed back a message "Can't we meet somewhere else?" He must have really not wanted to relive that night. Where had I gone wrong, was it when I told him that I remembered everything? Maybe even from the first time we said hello, I should have known. I began to feel disgusted by myself, I should just call it off, and as soon as I opened my phone to text him he had sent "Meet me at the Blair House, if you aren't there exactly at midnight I'll leave."
I couldn't believe it! I plumped my face into the pillow and muttered his name over and over again, it was the only remedy to my complete helplessness, to love. What I'd spoken into my pillow revealed to me that, at least for a moment, that I had in fact enjoyed speaking it, and if he happened to hear I was muttering his name I wouldn't have cared, wouldn't have minded—let him know, let him see, let him pass judgment too if he wants—just don't tell the world—even if you're the world for me right now, even if in your eyes stands a horrified, scornful world. That steely look of yours, Joe, I'd rather die than face it once I've told you how I feel.